


Yield

by todisturbtheuniverse



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 19:05:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1522175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/todisturbtheuniverse/pseuds/todisturbtheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompted by elfgirl931 on Tumblr: Thane and FemShep, unexpected boldness.</p><p>Thane is Shepard’s new least favorite sparring partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yield

**Author's Note:**

> Circa ME2, post-Sins of the Father, established flirtation.

Thane is Shepard’s new least favorite sparring partner.

It used to be Garrus, and they don’t spar, exactly—they just shoot things at varying distances moving at varying speeds. He’s always just that tiny bit better than her, but she can at least console herself by focusing on the  _tiny_ part.

Thane, though—he’s smoke and shadows, always slipping away before she can land a good hit. He smiles on the rare occasion that she’s quick enough to catch him. If he were anyone else, she would think he’s being patronizing, but Thane is nothing if not genuine. The nerve.

"Good," he encourages.

She drips sweat. She hasn’t had a workout this good in years—even  _before_ she died.  _Hah_ , she thinks, sort of amused. Sometimes, she still forgets the time lapse, still thinks it’s two years ago. He gets in a strike while she’s distracted, a foot to her stomach and  _oof_ , she staggers back.

"Pay attention," he chides.

”You’re spry for a dead man,” she complains, bringing heavy arms up again. She feels unbalanced without her armor, too light to goad her body into combat. She’s used to putting her head down and charging, not ducking and sidestepping.

"I could say the same about you," he says, unblinking.

She chuckles breathlessly and ducks under his next punch. “Fair enough,” she acknowledges.

She tries to plant a foot in his stomach the way he did to her, but he’s too quick; his hands flash down to grip her ankle and wrench her hard enough to send her spinning, landing her facedown on the mat. He follows her down, using his weight to pin her. Her breath fogs the sticky mat beneath her. Grimacing, she wiggles around until she’s on her back beneath him.

"I yield, I guess," she coughs. "Ow."

"You aren’t hurt," he reprimands her, but he smiles too. "Perhaps your pride is a little bruised—"

"When is it not," she grumbles, struggling up to lean on her elbows. "I don’t think I have any pride left."

Perhaps he sees where she stands, dangerously on the precipice of brooding, because he reaches out to touch her cheek. His palm curves to fit around her jaw. Her breath catches in her chest; she’s yanked back, woken up.

He hauls her closer to him, arm looped around her waist, and she goes willingly. Before this moment there has been nothing but hands folded on a table, covert grins, long conversations, but now there’s the heat of his mouth, too, the planes of his body pressed against hers, the raw rumble of pleasure rising up from his throat.

As soon as it begins, it ends. When she opens her eyes, the world films over in a kaleidoscope of dizzying color until she blinks—once, twice—and then that’s gone, too.  _Mordin warned me about that_ , she remembers, feeling dangerously giddy even inside her own head.

Gently, deliberately, he touches his forehead to hers. She wants, more than anything, to invite him to her cabin—to stop dancing around this—but she wants, too, to pretend that they have more time than they do.

"I should go," he says.

One moment he’s there, weight grounding her to the mat, and the next instant he’s gone, the lift already sliding closed. She flops back to the ground and scrubs her hands over her face to hide her grin—from who, she’s not sure, but she wants to keep it to herself regardless. She thinks he was probably making fun of her, and she doesn’t think she really minds.


End file.
